The Mountains Are Calling.... So I Answered - Conclusion

The Mighty Sequoia Tree

It usually takes a while, but once I settle into a rhythm the daily routine becomes habitual. Wake up slowly as light begins to illuminate the walls of my shelter.  Recognize the now familiar seams and patterns of the tent roof above me and recall that I'm somewhere else, far from home.

Once I'm fully in the world, it only takes a few minutes before I'm moving, changing from camp clothes back into shirt, shorts, and socks from the day before.  When dressed I stuff the sleeping bag into a compression sack, deflate and roll up the insulated pad and pillow, pack loose sleeping attire into a stuff sack, and get the small items (headlamp, water filter, lip balm, earbuds, etc.) out of the tent.

Becoming upright, I begin heating water for coffee.  While I'm at it, I sort through the bear can looking for breakfast, and whatever snacks and food I'll want through the day, putting things where I can get at them.  Then I address the tent, remove the fly if I used it, set it aside so any overnight condensation can dry, and pull the stakes from the corners.

I like freestanding tents because you can fully open the door zipper, then lift the entire thing off the ground and invert it so any dirt or debris inside can be shaken out.  Once that is done, unclip the tent body from the poles, and pull the poles from corner grommets.  Collapse the poles, insert into the pole sack, and put tent stakes into their respective bag.  Gather the fly and place on the now collapsed tent body along with poles and stakes, fold and roll.  Into the bag and ready to attach to the pack.

It all comes together like a magic trick.  For trips like this the stuff I need fits into or attached to a 65 liter pack, and it's pretty compact.  When I reach my next camp, out it comes again, and in short order constitutes the necessities of home in the wilderness.  This is one of the things I enjoy most about the whole affair.  Go where your legs can take you, and what you have makes it possible to be comfortable when you get there. 

I am in Evolution Valley, with my next destination the junction with Piute Pass trail 7.5 miles away.  I won't climb to the pass today, in fact I won't reach the pass until the day after tomorrow.  Knowing I only have a few days left allows me to slow down and take time to enjoy my surroundings.  As mentioned in the previous post, Evolution Valley is a somewhat kinder, gentler manifestation of sometimes severe Sierra geography, and that makes walking at a more leisurely pace easy.

The elevation on this stretch is the lowest I'll see on this trip.  From the north end of McClure Meadow, the trail descends an additional 1400 feet, ending at an altitude just over 8000' at the junction.  But tomorrow when I begin the ultimate exit, I will be climbing once again towards the pass at 11,400'.  On the other side I'll be dropping back to 9200 feet at North Lake, the final destination.

Evolution Creek

Today's grade is easy and except for multiple rock hops over numerous creeks fairly uneventful.  There is an unbridged crossing of Evolution Creek which can be dangerous in late spring/early summer, but by this time of year it is usually only around 18 inches at the deepest point.  This is where having a good pair of quick drying camp shoes comes in handy, or you could do it barefoot if your feet are tough enough.

There is an alternate bypass that can be used if the main crossing is unsafe, however it traverses a sensitive wetland in Evolution Meadow, and Park Rangers ask hikers to use it only as necessary.

After wading through Evolution Creek the trail continues on the south side of the valley, and the canyon narrows again.

Evolution Creek begins to drop into Goddard Canyon

Not long after crossing the trail begins to drop with a series of switchbacks, losing around 600 feet of elevation as it leaves Evolution Valley behind.  This section is fully exposed with few trees, and despite the relatively mild weather it was a relief to reach shade. At the bottom the path enters Goddard Canyon and a union with South Fork of San Joaquin River.

Sunny switchbacks lead into Goddard Canyon

The trail immediately crosses the river on a sturdy bridge, then continues through the canyon for just under a mile before crossing on a second bridge back to the east.  Along the way the river cascades over several drops, and water plunging over massive rocks into deep pools fills the air with white noise.

Just before Piute Creek, the trail heads away from the river for a short distance before coming to a crossing of the creek on Piute Creek Bridge.  This is also the junction with Piute Creek trail, which leads to Piute Pass.  In just over 17 miles from here my journey will reach the end.  But for today this is as far as I go.

Over the last week and a half I have encountered numerous hikers each day, most JMT hikers heading south towards Mt. Whitney.  But today has been notably quiet, and so far I have seen only 3 other people.  At the junction there is a solo traveler taking a break before heading on, but no one else.  I have the place to myself and find a good spot for a tent near the bridge.  I spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying the sound of water rushing over boulders, while allowing a cascade of random thoughts to occupy my mind.

This spot marks the northern boundary of Kings Canyon/Sequoia National Park.  The trail continues some 70 miles north towards Yosemite, with the next section traversing part of the John Muir Wilderness.  This is my fourth time passing this way, and although there is still spectacular country beyond this point, I really enjoy the time I have spent in the National Park. 

North to Yosemite

The direction I came from

It's early September, and a few weeks from now the autumnal equinox will mark the end of summer.  For the most part the weather has been very mild, with some nights at higher elevation approaching freezing early morning temperatures.  But most telling is the shortening of daylight hours, with a few minutes at either end given over to later sunrises and earlier sunsets.

I've mentioned before having mixed feelings about the end of summer.  The transition seems to loom larger in my mind as I get older, probably because it's another measure of how quickly time is passing.  Sometimes fall seems melancholy as vibrant green fades to brown, and the skeletal frames of deciduous trees replace rustling canopies of leaves.  But the air is crisp and cool, and skies take on hues of deep azure.

The turning of the seasons along with the impending end of this trip make me reflective as daylight wanes.  It's not sadness exactly, just pensive contemplation of how it will be another year before I can return.  I find myself wishing I could stay in this moment just a while longer, but the rhythm of life demands constant change.  The consolation is I still have a couple of days to go.

Heading Out

I'm up early as usual, and packed to go within a short time.  I'm already at the trail junction so I turn east and begin the long climb to Piute Pass.  I don't know how far I'll go today, but since it's 17 miles to the exit I will try to make around half or maybe a little more of the distance.

The first hour or so is in shade as sheer mountains hide the morning sun.  The route follows Piute Creek nearly all the way to the pass, and water is never far away except for a short stretch higher up.

Looking ahead

Looking back

The canyon is narrow at first, but a long series of switchbacks rising through a bench covered in manzanita shrubs opens the terrain up for more expansive views.

Manzanita

Fun fact about manzanita:  Everybody has heard the word heliotropism, right?  That's where plants actively track the sun across the sky to maximize the energy received.  Except that manzanita does it differently.  Manzanita leaves need light just like all chlorophyll containing organisms, but it typically grows where it can be hot and dry.  

In an adaptation designed to reduce moisture loss from evaporation, manzanita turns its leaves away so they are perpendicular to the light, minimizing the surface area exposed to direct sun.  Pretty cool, huh?  (I'm sorry - once a tour guide, always a tour guide).

Once the trail reaches the level of the descending creek bed, it stays very close to the water for a while.  Here is where I take my first break of the day.  There is a shelf of granite that protrudes like a tongue into the creek bed, and water flows on either side.  It is so restful and warm sitting there I am reluctant to move on.  But as the saying goes, "miles to go before I sleep".

Upstream view Piute Creek

Downstream view Piute Creek

I shoulder my pack and continue on.  Alternating between trees and exposed talus slopes the trail continues an upwards trajectory.  Increased altitude brings about the environmental shifts seen multiple times on each day of the journey.

One very common feature I see day after day on Sierra trails is a hallmark of their construction.  The mountains are young, composed of varying types of granite, one of the hardest rocks on the planet.  Creating a path here for pack animals (and eventually humans) was a monumental undertaking, and prodigious amounts of hard labor was needed to make it happen.

But physical effort alone is not enough to move obdurate and sometimes impossible stone.  The use of explosives was an absolute necessity, especially when large outcroppings of granite blocked the path.  Using hand drills, the builders would bore into the rock, place a charge and light the fuse.  The evidence is everywhere, from unused holes to the telltale radial blast pattern where the dynamite was detonated.

Radial blast mark

Unused drill holes

When I walk here I marvel at the effort required to establish a navigable path through this rugged mountain range, and I am reminded again of the tenacity and determination of the people involved.

As the day progresses I approach a section where the trail begins to climb above the creek bed, and the sound of water starts to recede.  I estimate I have covered nearly half the distance and decide to start scouting for a place to settle in.  Below me I can see some nice flat openings in the trees close to the creek, and make my way down.

A likely spot

Near my chosen site there is a small waterfall, and easy access to the creek.  As I have done the last two days, I set up camp reasonably early then spend the rest of the afternoon basking in late summer sun.  All too soon the light of our companion star disappears over the western mountains, and I retreat to the warmth of my sleeping bag not long afterwards.

The next morning arrives on schedule, and I am quick to reassemble my gear into a coherent package.  As I said before I'm getting good at this.  Then it's back up to the trail and onwards to the pass.

There is an extended ramble through the forest, with the creek now quite a ways down below me.  Once I'm above 10,000 feet again the contiguous forest disappears, replaced by random stands of limber pine.

Piute Pass will be the eighth time I have transited a saddle through the mountains on this trip (I did Bishop Pass twice).  Like the others before, as I approach the high point trees vanish altogether, and a stony alpine basin surrounds me.

There is a strong breeze, and the wind definitely has a bite at this altitude.  I started the day in a short sleeve shirt and shorts, but as I move through the area am prompted to put on my puffy (down) jacket for warmth.

The pass is just up ahead, and immediately below it is a small body of water called Muriel Lake. I can see places where previous hikers have camped, but today would be challenging with the brisk wind and not much shelter.

Muriel Lake

Past the lake and one last uphill, and I am over Piute Pass and descending the eastern side.  I had hoped the wind would subside once I crossed over, but mountain orographics frequently defy conventional wisdom, and the stiff breeze is now blowing downhill.  Even so it's not as biting as before, and I am able to shed my jacket while moving on.

I know I have belabored this point already, but pass geography is like a mirror image, where landscape features found on one side are repeated on the other.  Dropping down into the basin below, I pass a series of alpine lakes, each having an outlet stream that feeds the next one in series.  As the altitude lessens, the stony barren granite surrenders to more and more vegetation, and trees multiply as I go.

Even though I could easily reach the trailhead at North Lake today, I want to spend one more day immersed in beauty.  If I break up the remaining distance, I will have about 5 miles to complete tomorrow, making the last day easy and giving myself plenty of time to find a ride back to Bishop.

There is an actual Piute Lake on this side of the pass, and that is my goal for the day.  The wind is persistent, so when I reach the lake I seek a place that is reasonably sheltered.  Fortunately several large granite outcroppings cradle the shore, and one of them has a space large and flat enough to set a tent.

Piute Lake

This is the last day of my adventure, and I take full advantage of the remainder of the day to simply absorb whatever thoughts, ideas, feelings, and sensations being here offers.  As I mentioned earlier, the end of a trip like this engenders wishful thinking, wanting the experience to last.  But I also know it will be o.k. to sleep in a real bed, to eat food that is not rehydrated, and to resume the normal patterns of my daily life.

The sun goes down, the day comes to a close, and before I know it I am awakening to a new dawn.  Packing up camp is so routine I scarcely give it much thought.  I am on the last section of trail as it drops swiftly to the valley floor below.  North Lake is also a popular recreation destination, with people coming for extended backpacking trips, day hikes, and camping and fishing in the basin.

It's just after noon when I reach the parking area and campground at the trailhead.  Once again I walk the road for a while to find the best spot for hitchhiking, and it takes about 30 minutes before I am offered a ride.  

As I sit in the passenger seat of a kind strangers car, I share stories of the last few days, the things I've seen, the people I've met, and thoughts I've had.  And although it's the end of this story, it's the also the beginning of the next one.